


love on winter lane

by dreamtowns



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, Established Relationship, Fluff, Healthy Relationships, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Married Couple, Mild Language, Noctis Lucis Caelum Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtowns/pseuds/dreamtowns
Summary: Noctis catches his gaze again, and smiles so warmly, Prompto’s toes curl.“Hey.”Prompto can’t help but giggle. “Hi.”They stare at one another before they burst into laughter. They’ve been married for nearly fifteen years, now, and yet sometimes it feels like they’re still teenagers stumbling into a relationship, giddy and messy and in love.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 14
Kudos: 155





	love on winter lane

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV. All rights reserved to its developers: Square Enix. All that is mine is the plot of this story in particular and any original characters introduced. No copyright infringement intended. No money is being made from this work. This is purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!  
> Happy holidays, everyone!!

Winter greets Insomnia eagerly, blanketing the city of glass and steel with a healthy couple feet of snow. Prompto is in _love,_ as he always is whenever it gets colder. He’s a winter baby through and through—never mind that his birthday isn’t even during the season. Noctis, on the other hand? Not so much. The cold made his old scars and injuries ache a bit more, the healed skin coiled tight in response to the low temperatures.

Prompto does his best to ease Noctis’ pain, but there’s only so much medicinal salves and lotions can do. While sleep does help, unfortunately, they have a kingdom to run and it’d be negligent if all they did was sleep all of winter.

But it’s a slow day, thankfully, and the snow had gained a few more inches overnight. Prompto makes a mental note to keep an eye on the weather—the last thing anyone needs right now is an encroaching snowstorm. Officially, the Citadel was closed for a week and half for the holidays. Unofficially, they were both going through their paperwork to make sure things went smoothly for the new year.

Noctis sets down the papers in his hand with a long, aggravated sigh. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm before he says, evenly, “If I have to see this tax bill one more time, I’m going to behead everyone on that fucking council.”

Prompto snorts. “I mean, if you want nationwide riots and a rebellion, then be my guest.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Noctis responds, and then grimaces at the rest of the pile he’s yet to work his way through. “Damn. I miss it when holiday break meant _holiday break_.”

“Yeah, I miss it, too,” Prompto hums and reaches over to entwine their fingers together. “But—hey, at least we’re not shut out in, like, separate offices or whatever.”

“Thank the gods for that,” Noctis mutters as he squeezes Prompto’s fingers. “I’d go insane if I were in here by myself.”

Although they _did_ have separate offices, they frequently used their shared office. It was a large enough space to house two desks that they shoved together, a mini couch, two armchairs, a fireplace, rug, and a bookshelf that spanned one entire wall.

They were currently in their residential suite, camped down in the living room. Their coffee table resembled more of a mountain of paperwork and manila folders rather than a table at this point. They’ve been at it since nine, and it was nearing four in the afternoon.

Prompto stares down at a proposal for some charity ball after the holiday, and his vision swims. A decision made, he takes off his reading glasses and gently rubs his forehead. He feels, rather than sees, Noctis shifting around beside him, and hums.

“How’s your knee?”

“I’ll live,” Noctis says after a pause. Prompto waits for a minute. “It’s a bit sore, but it’s not _too_ aggravated today.”

Prompto blows a raspberry, loud and annoying enough that it gains the attention of their cat. A rescue they (read: Noctis, it was all _Noctis_ ) named Blueberry Jam, for reasons no one knew nor understood. The bell on her collar jingled with her movements but, after a few moments, she turned her attention back to her napping spot.

Prompto smiles. “We should’ve named her Noctis II.”

“Huh?” Noctis blinks as he pulls himself out of his documents, dazed and perplexed. He follows Prompto’s gaze and huffs a moment later. “Yeah, whatever. You’re just full of jokes, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Prompto gasps. “Only the best for my baby!”

“You are _so_ lucky I love you,” Noctis grumbles under his breath, but he leans over to kiss Prompto, nonetheless.

Prompto hums into the kiss, melting against Noctis as he shifts to get closer. Noctis holds his waist loosely, but his fingers still dig into Prompto’s hips as they deepen their embrace. Shivers crawl up Prompto’s spine when Noctis mouths against his jawline, moving down to the curve of his neck where he pauses, nipping a bit harder.

“N-Noct, don’t leave—!”

“—Any marks, I know,” Noctis murmurs against Prompto’s skin, lips curling into a slight smirk when Prompto shivers and makes a soft, almost keening, noise at the feeling. His neck had always been far too sensitive than normal. “Don’t worry, baby,” Noctis continues, warm and low, as he maneuvers Prompto into a more comfortable position. “I’ll take g—.”

Blueberry Jam yowls, loud and high-pitched, as if Aranea accidentally stepped on her tail again. Instead of on her platform scratching post, the black cat now sits on the armchair of the couch and gives them a disapproving glare.

She gives another yowl, bright green eyes staring into their souls. Prompto breaks first, and his laughter bounces up to the ceiling.

“Did we just get cockblocked by a cat,” Noctis manages to say out of his own stuttered breaths. Blueberry Jam gives an annoyed sniff.

Prompto’s too hysterical to be of any help. “I can see the headlines now,” he cackles before he adopts the voice of a typical sports announcer, “His Royal Majesties scolded by their cat for getting too frisky!”

“I’m disowning you,” Noctis says, but there’s laughter in his eyes and voice. “I can’t believe you’ve done this to me.”

“Who’re you disowning?” Prompto says as he calms down a bit, but a few giggles escape every now and then. “Me or Blueberry?”

“Why would I disown _you?”_ Noctis rolls his eyes and looks so, so beautiful doing it. Man, Prompto’s so _lucky_. “You’re my husband. And, for your information, I can’t exactly fuck a cat—.”

“—Well, you _can,_ but that’s, like, illegal and—.”

“I’m returning you,” Noctis deadpans.

“Too late,” Prompto snickers. “Ignis burned the receipt.”

“Good.” Noctis leans in for another kiss, somehow searing and gentle; overwhelming and yet not enough. When they break apart, heartbeats later, Noctis presses their foreheads together. “I meant it when I said I’d be with you until my last breath.”

When they were younger, Prompto would have blushed and stammered and refused to meet Noctis’ eyes. He used to think that he didn’t deserve that—all of the kindness and gentleness Noctis showered him in without the expectation of an exchange. People liked to say that Noctis was cold and standoffish, shy and closed off to the world.

Prompto knows better.

Noctis gives his love freely, and wholly; as easily as he breathed, he shared his love. It was just one of the many things Prompto loved him for.

“Ever at your side?” Prompto whispers back, the phrase that just defines them and their relationship easily dripping off his tongue.

Noctis’ eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Always.”

Blueberry Jam meows once more. Noctis laughs and reaches for her, fingers scratching her favorite spots while she purrs at the affection.

“I think she was feeling a bit neglected,” Prompto says, gaze and smile fond and warm as he lathers her with his love as well.

Noctis snorts. “I think it’s because we’ve stopped giving her treats.”

“You really should stop spoiling her so much,” Prompto says as if he’s not half the problem with Blueberry Jams’ gluttony. He’s a sucker for her wide-eyed gaze. “She could get sick, you know.”

“I think you should take your own advice.”

“I didn’t wake up just to be attacked like this.”

They share a gaze, quiet and soft and warm, and the rest of the world melts from their eyes. Blueberry Jam leaps off the couch, scaring a good quarter of Prompto’s life even if he really should be used to it by now, and makes her way toward her food bowl. They watch her in quiet until Noctis catches his gaze again, and smiles so warmly, Prompto’s toes curl.

“Hey.”

Prompto can’t help but giggle. “Hi.”

They stare at one another before they burst into laughter. They’ve been married for nearly fifteen years, now, and yet sometimes it feels like they’re still teenagers stumbling into a relationship, giddy and messy and in love.

“Come on,” Noctis murmurs as he rises to his feet, tugging Prompto to follow. “Let’s escape while she’s distracted.”

Prompto snorts but acquiesces, shaking his head fondly as they make their way to the bedroom. Noctis truly acted like such a dork in a private space, Prompto sometimes couldn’t believe he was the strong and empathic “King of Dawn,” as many people likened him to be.

He shuts the door behind him with his foot, and then sucks in a breath when Noctis doesn’t waste time in becoming attached to his neck.

“Now,” Noctis murmurs before he mouths against Prompto’s collarbone. “I think we were in the middle of something.”

Prompto sputters with laughter when Noctis’ fingers ghost over a ticklish spot on his sides. “Hey, now—can we at least make it to the bed? We’re not twenty anymore.”

“Mm.” Noctis draws Prompto into another kiss, swallowing his laughter, however brief. Their fingers entwine, and Prompto shivers all the way down to his toes before Noctis breaks it. “Love you.”

In the evening light, Noctis is a divine beauty. Prompto can’t help but kiss him again.

“Didn’t someone say we should get in the bed?” Noctis laughs into the embrace. “You’re just as eager as me.”

“I can’t help it,” Prompto huffs, but he’s smiling. “But, uh—the bed. That’s a smart idea.”

“Mhm.”

They fall into bed in a scramble of limbs and breathless laughter. Prompto’s always laughing with Noctis, no matter what they’re doing or who they’re with. They could be attending the most dry and boring state dinner, and Noctis could still make Prompto laugh.

“How’re you doing?” Noctis murmurs against his forehead.

“Me?” Prompto says. “What about _you?_ How’s your knee?”

“Mm.” Noctis’ fingers begin pressing into areas that are quickly making Prompto lose his mind. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Prompto loosely hangs his hands around Noctis’ shoulders, biting his lip. “I don’t mind being—?”

The kiss is less gentle. Bruising and skin-melting, it leaves Prompto a little dizzy and very, _very_ interesting in everything that comes next. His breath is stuttering already, soft pants and trembles, heat pooling, warm and heavy, in the pit of his stomach.

“I promise I’m alright,” Noctis says, his voice rough and so pleasant to Prompto’s ears. “Now—are _you_ good? Comfy?”

Prompto gives a pleased little sigh. “I feel great.”

“Great enough to continue?”

“Oh.” A positively filthy smile curves Prompto’s lips as he cards his fingers through Noctis’ hair, feeling him shiver at the feeling. _“Absolutely.”_

*

Prompto’s half-heartedly scrolling through his social media—on his private account, not the Prompto Lucis Caelum account—when Noctis’ phone chimes annoyingly. Roused from his nap, Noctis groans and mutters at the sound, drowsily reaching toward the nightstand to peek at the notification.

“Who is it?” Prompto asks as he switches to Twitter. He wants to see if his favorite account tweeted another photo of their cat. “Is it important? Are we late for something?”

Prompto hopes not.

He has so many little hickies and bruises, it’d be an instant scandal if he dared leave their suites. _I’m not alone, though_ , he thinks to himself, a little smug as he trails his eyes over all of the marks blossoming on Noctis’ skin.

“It’s Iggy,” Noctis says and sits upright. Prompto leans against Noctis’ back and waits for him to open the message, curious to what Ignis wanted when he’d been utterly silent the entire day. “I really hope there’s no emergency.”

“Same.”

 _Gladio’s been gone, too_ , Prompto thinks, pausing. He’d been curious about their absence but had been more focused on his own duties to think much more of it. He worries his bottom lip a bit. “Do you think something’s wrong? I haven’t seen them today except for breakfast.”

And that was only because Ignis dropped off a few more reports for Noctis to sift through. Prompto had been half awake, for all that he was an early riser; curled on the couch with Blueberry on his lap, a mug of tea in his hands as he willed his brain to cease its’ zombie-like tendencies.

“It’s probably just an update,” Noctis soothes, leaning his head back to peck Prompto’s cheek. “Don’t be so worried, babe.”

“Yeah, sure, let’s tell the man with G.A.D. not to worry,” Prompto responds dryly, but there’s no bite to his words.

Noctis rolls his eyes, and then rolls them again when Prompto sticks out his tongue. “What?” Noctis teases. “Are you twelve?”

“After the things you did to me, I’d be very concerned if I was,” Prompto replies and then gestures to the still unopened message on Noctis’ phone.“Well? I’m curious—open it!”

Noctis mocks him silently, but taps open the messaging app. _Everything is ready for the Caelum tradition,_ the text reads. _Happy Holidays, your Majesty._

Noctis can’t help but make an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t believe they woke me up for this.”

Prompto snickers and pats Noctis on the head in a sympathetic manner. “Poor baby.”

Noctis pretends to bite Prompto’s hand, smiling when Prompto collapses into sputtered, wheezing laughs. He doesn’t even know why he finds it so hilarious. When he calms down enough, he clears his throat and waits until he has Noctis’ attention.

“What’s this about a Caelum tradition?” Prompto blinks an imploring gaze at Noctis, tilting his head in a way that he knows is cute enough to break through any and all of Noctis’ inhibitions.

Noctis pouts and points at him with a ball-tipped pen. “I know what you’re doing, and as King, I demand you cease such actions.”

“And as your Consort,” Prompto responds with a mischievous grin, using what he calls his “snooty tone” that he uses whenever he’s around other nobility. “I don’t think I will.”

The pout deepens.

Prompto laughs and kisses Noctis until the pout falls into a smile. “Now,” he says once they break apart because air is a thing that they need to have in order to keep living. “Tell me the forbidden secrets of the family.”

“You’re such a dork,” Noctis laughs quietly. “It’s just—something married Caelum’s do before the New Year happens.” After a pause, Noctis adds, “On the fifteenth year of their marriage, though.”

“Oh?” Prompto raises an eyebrow. Fifteen was an important and symbolic number to the Lucis Caelum’s. “Please tell me this isn’t a weird sex thing.”

“No.” Noctis rolls his eyes. “I should ban you from reading fanfiction.”

“You can pry fanfiction out of my cold, dead hands,” Prompto responds in a solemn tone.

“As for what the tradition is,” Noctis says, lips curved into that _I know something you don’t_ smirk that he liked to wear, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

“No fair!” It’s Prompto’s turn to pout now. “Foul! You can’t just – wave this mystery in my face and expect me _not_ to be curious.”

“I know, baby,” Noctis teases. “I’m just so cruel.”

“Very,” Prompto agrees. “Torturing your poor husband like this.”

When Noctis jokingly bites Prompto’s cheek, who squawks in response, he murmurs, “You know very well how much I could . . . torture you.”

“Please leave your biting kink at the door, I don’t want it,” Prompto jokes, laughing when Noctis flicks his side as punishment. “Have _mercy!”_ Prompto laughs, and then shrieks when Noctis moves unexpectedly, trapping his flailing limbs.

“Never!”

“I’m _TICKLISH THERE, NOCT—!”_

*

No one wants to tell Prompto what the tradition is. While he could go into the library, there’s just far too many books and scrolls for Prompto to sift through when he’s already so overwhelmed with the duties piled on his lap. Ignis skillfully changes the subject whenever Prompto starts prying, and Gladio just flat-out pretends Prompto hadn’t spoken.

Iris alternates between laughing at his misery or cooing at how “romantic it is.” Aranea knows little of royal traditions in Lucis, and it's the same with Cindy. Dino just drops hints about doing another interview. Cor most definitely knows, but the man Prompto jokingly calls his adopted father (maybe . . . half-jokingly) literally saw Prompto walking toward him and turned around, disappearing into the maze that was the Citadel.

After the third day of such antics, Prompto takes note that there’s a flurry of activity in a section of the gardens. He eyes the storm of staff members with a curious gaze, worrying his bottom lip in a way that definitely wasn’t healthy nor good for his already winter-chapped lips. He turns back to the proposal in front of him and blows a raspberry.

Gladio spares him a glance, questioning but still blank as he’s, technically, on duty right now. While Noctis is – somewhere in the Citadel, he’s with Ignis and Cor and half the Guard, so Gladio decided to trail after Prompto for most of the day. Iris had gone down with the cold Talcott had been nursing for almost two weeks now, sadly.

When Prompto sighs for the fifth time, Gladio’s blank expression cracks. “You okay?”

“Mm.” Prompto rests his cheek on his fist. “I’m just – curious.”

He stares out the window, and Gladio makes an understanding noise. “Ah. The tradition thing, right?”

Prompto’s response is a raspberry.

Then—

“Are you _sure_ you can’t tell me?” He half-begs Gladio, even though, according to Ignis and the entire Citadel, Prompto should have to _beg_ for anything given his higher status. “Like, just a hint? A small, teeny-tiny hint?”

“No,” says Gladio.

“An itty-bitty hint?”

“I can say ‘no’ in Galahdian,” Gladio replies, more amused than annoyed, “if you think that will make it stick.”

“Okay, but _why_ can’t you just tell me?” Prompto questions, half-pouting, half-serious. If he were any younger, Prompto would be nursing a serious insecurity hangover at how everyone behaved toward him. “Is it a tradition thing?”

For the first time in what feels like _forever_ , Gladio answers him ( _FINALLY_ , Prompto cheers internally). “Yeah,” he replies. “Don’t know why, but it’s always been like that. Since . . . since King Regis and Queen Aulea didn’t really get to do this, everyone’s going, uh . . ..”

“Batshit,” Prompto suggests when Gladio struggles to find the right word that describes the utter clusterfuck that has descended the Citadel even though people should be _on vacation._

“The extra mile,” Gladio corrects with a snort. “But that works, too.”

Prompto stares down at the garden again and huffs. “I thought people were supposed to be on vacation right now? I distinctly remember helping Noct write that announcement we sent out.”

“People volunteered,” Gladio explains.

Prompto blinks and then glances back to the garden. He can’t even count how many people were there. “R-Really?”

“Traditionally, the King can’t ask any of his ‘subjects’ to help him with this,” Gladio continues. “But there’s nothing in the texts that state volunteers are forbidden.”

Prompto—feels very, very touched and emotional.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes out, staring back at the garden with a cloudy gaze. While he knew, objectively, that he and Noctis were well-loved and received by the general public, given everything they had done during the Long Night and bringing back the sun, the sight of that love always surprised him.

“Please don’t let Noctis return and see you in tears.” Gladio pushes the tissue box on his desk toward him. “He’d kill me.”

“He can only do that if you commit treason,” Prompto warbles around his tears, taking a few tissues. Age has made him emotional, and he wants a _refund_.

“Trust me,” Gladio says dryly, “he’d find a loophole.”

Prompto laughs because—well, he’s not _wrong_.

An hour and a half later finds Prompto playing with Blueberry Jam. Laser pointers truly were a genius invention. Noctis returns from wherever he had been when Prompto thinks about texting him, and he’s got that soft smile on his face that never fails to make Prompto’s knees weak.

“Had a good day, baby?” Noctis greets, pressing a gentle kiss against Prompto’s forehead. He smells like – snow. Snow and the garden.

“I dunno,” Prompto says, playfully narrowing his eyes at his husband. “That depends.”

Noctis quirks an eyebrow. “Depends on what?”

“On if I get to find out this tradition or not,” Prompto says with a huff. “I’m so curious, it’s killing me.” Then, he gasps jokingly, hands pressed against his cheeks. “That’s your master plan, isn’t it? Killing me with my curiosity.”

“You got me,” Noctis responds dryly.

“Caught red handed,” Prompto says, pointing a victorious finger at Noctis. “As a consequence of your crimes against the crown, you’ll have to wear one of Iris’ knitted sweaters!”

Noctis grimaces. “But it’s _itchy.”_

“Take your punishment like a good boy,” Prompto says and then cackles at the look he receives. Blueberry flicks her tail in an annoyed manner and makes her escape from the living room. “Okay, but I think I had an alright day. You?”

“Very – productive,” Noctis says, and it’s far _too_ nonchalant.

Prompto narrows his eyes. “You’re a Noctis Imposter sent here to kidnap me and then leave my rotting bones in the sewers, aren’t you?”

For a good minute, they stare at each other. “Prompto,” Noctis says finally. “What the fuck?”

“You’re being weird,” Prompto throws his hands in the air. “What was I supposed to think?”

“Not _that,”_ says Noctis. “A ‘Noctis Imposter’? _Where_ – they wouldn’t be able to get _in_ here anyway.”

“Weirder things have happened,” Prompto responds sagely—which, given the world they lived in, is a fair assessment. He’s seen some shit, okay? “So . . . what’s going on?”

“You wanna know about the tradition, don’t you?” Noctis says, and it’s the magic words to Prompto’s renewed energy.

“Yes!” He cheers. “It’s about _time!_ I was growing some gray hairs, you know.”

Noctis chuckles. “The _horror_.”

“I know, right?” Prompto claps his hands as he rises to his feet. “Okay. Let’s go!”

“Wait. There’s one thing you have to do first,” Noctis says, halting Prompto from barreling toward the front door.

Prompto tilts his head. “Which is what?”

Noctis takes out a strip of cloth from his pocket. Black.

“Oh, gods.” Prompto stares at the blindfold. “This _is_ a weird sex thing!”

“Prom—!” Noctis stops, huffing. “Just put on the blindfold.”

Prompto raises an eyebrow and can’t help but be the little shit he was born to be. “The biting kink is one thing,” he says calmly, fighting back a smile when Noctis twitches. “But I’m not that much into exhibitionism—.”

“I’m getting a divorce,” Noctis says with the exasperated fondness of one who has been exposed far too long to the likes of one Prompto Lucis Caelum. “I’m getting it right now.”

“No, you won’t,” Prompto snickers, locking his arms around Noctis’ waist and pulling him closer. “You love me!”

“I do,” Noctis agrees quietly, drawing Prompto in a light, feathery kiss. “But I still need you to put the blindfold on.”

“I can’t believe your ancestors were this kinky,” Prompto can’t help but quip, laughing at Noctis’ exaggerated groan. Then— “Actually, wait, no, I can believe it.”

_“Prompto.”_

*

Noctis guides Prompto through the Citadel expertly. It’s eerily quiet, their footsteps and soft conversation echoing. Prompto still isn’t sure how he feels about the blindfold. It’s definitely heightened his senses a little, and he feels very vulnerable and exposed even with Noctis at his side.

He’s not sure if he likes that.

“You okay?” Noctis rubs a soft circle on Prompto’s hip with his thumb. His hands are so warm, it seeps through Prompto’s clothes. “I know you were making jokes, but if the blindfold is making you uncomfortable, we’ll take it off.”

“But then I’ll see everything,” Prompto says after a moment. “And—I thought tradition didn’t want me to see what was going on?”

“Baby, tradition is not worth making you feel unsafe,” Noctis tells him instantly; soft and gentle. They’ve drawn to a stop somewhere. “Just say the word, okay?”

Prompto takes a moment, rolling the idea around in his mind for a bit. He trusts Noctis and he knows that, wherever they’re going, they’ll be fine. The blindfold is temporary—but Prompto knows Noctis will be upset if he ever did something that made Prompto feel unsafe and uncomfortable in his own home.

“Can we take it off, please?” Prompto’s voice is so quiet, he’s not sure Noctis hears him despite them flushed against one another.

“Of course.”

Within seconds, Prompto’s sight returns. The anxiety rumbling in the back of his mind recedes slightly, but it’s always a constant presence in Prompto’s world. Noctis lets him take as much time as he needs to gather himself, rubbing slow circles into the small of his back and just . . . being a grounding, safe presence for Prompto.

 _It’s a good thing this place is empty right now,_ Prompto thinks distantly. He wouldn’t want to think about the headlines and the like if someone (read: the press) were to see him at a moment of vulnerability.

Noctis squeezes their hands, kissing his cheek. “You good?”

“Right as rain,” Prompto responds, just as softly, and smiles. “Let’s get this show on the road, cowboy.”

“No.” Noctis pauses right in the middle of the hallway. Prompto’s laughter floats into all the empty spaces. _“No.”_

“Fine, fine, I’ll behave.”

Noctis bumps his hip. “You better.”

“Or what?” Prompto smiles, cherubic and sweet. “You’ll _punish_ me?”

“When we get outside, I’m going to shove you into the snow.”

There’s light at the end of the tunnel, and it’s looking out for Prompto, because he doesn’t get shoved into snow. Noctis _does_ pretend to grab him at the waist to throw him into the snowdrift, and Prompto’s sure the entire city hears his shrieking. Snow is pretty to look at—but it’s not pretty when it’s cold and wet.

“I’m too young for frostbite,” Prompto protests through a bright, breathless laugh, hands clutching Noctis’ shoulders.

“Too young?” Noctis laughs. “I didn’t know there were age limits for frostbite.”

“There are because I say there are.”

“Careful or else the press will call you conceited.”

Prompto scrunches his nose. “No talk about press when I’m in your arms like some damsel.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Noctis absentmindedly fixes Prompto’s mittens. “Come on—are you ready for the surprise, now?”

“I was born ready, baby,” Prompto rubs his hands together in eager anticipation. “Should I close my eyes?”

Noctis takes a moment to think. “Yeah, that’d be best.”

Prompto closes his eyes and loops his arm through Noctis’. “If I fall, I’m going to find some obscure law to behead you.”

“Uh huh.” Even if Prompto can’t see, he just knows Noctis is rolling his eyes. “We’re heading toward some steps, so be careful.”

“Got it.”

They make it to where they need to be without much chaos. There were a few times either Noctis or Prompto slipped on the icy sidewalk winding through the garden area. “Can I open my eyes now?” Prompto asks after a few minutes of being quiet.

Noctis huffs, a little amused, and says, “Yeah, you can open them now.”

Prompto opens his eyes.

It’s not a weird sex thing.

(Thank. The. _Gods._ )

But Prompto’s lost his voice.

While the garden is already well-kept and beautiful, Prompto thinks it’s never looked quite so gorgeous before. Soft, twinkling lights gracefully lounge in the trees and flower bushes. And—are those _floating lights?_

“Uh,” Prompto says. _“Dude.”_

“Dude,” Noctis mocks.

“I thought floating lights were, like, bad,” Prompto says after a pause. “Are they biodegradable floating lights?”

“Duh.” Noctis looks offended that he _wouldn’t_ use biodegradable. “I’d have Dr. Yeagre on my ass if I didn’t.”

Prompto snorts, a little amused. She really would leave her lab back at the Vesperpool if she thought they weren’t being environmentally conscience. “So . . . the surprise is the garden?”

“Nope.” Noctis starts tugging Prompto. “We’re going by the pond.”

“Why?” Prompto asks because, really, the suspense is going to _end him_. “Are we, like, drinking hot cocoa on the gazebo? Is there some bonfire thing?”

“You’ll see,” Noctis says.

Prompto pouts, but it dissolves as they round another corner. His breath catches when he spies the frozen pond and the ice skates in Ignis’ hands. “Are we _ice skating?”_

He _loved_ ice skating. He once asked Ignis if they could go to a nearby ice skating rink, and the press and security nightmare that would’ve undeniably occurred almost gave Ignis an ulcer. As he sits on the bench to lace up the boots, he pauses.

“Wait.”

Noctis makes a soft noise. “Hmm?”

“How is this a tradition?” Prompto tilts his head. “Like, I’m not complaining, but I don’t think ice skates are too old, you know?”

“I’ll answer that when we skate around the pond once,” Noctis tells him.

Prompto stares at Noctis. “Uh, Noct. Buddy. Baby. Love of my life.”

Noctis stares back. “Yes?”

“You can’t ice skate,” Prompto tells him.

“Sure, I can,” Noctis lies through his teeth.

Prompto distinctly remembers going ice skating with Noctis in high school, and Noctis nearly breaking his rib cage when he ate the ice only one minute when he got on. Prompto knows that Noctis is going to cling to him the entire time, but the thought doesn’t bother him. They’ll both fall within seconds, but they’ll have fun doing it.

Prompto gets on the ice first, getting accustomed to the texture of the ice before he turns to help Noctis get onto the pond. For a few shaky moments, they both grip one another to maintain balance.

“You good, baby?”

“Never been better,” Noctis chirps.

It’s so cold, their breaths show as white, cloudy mist in the air, and yet Prompto has never felt warmer.

Noctis surprises him by doing a circle around him, slow in pace, but a smug smile on his lips. “You’ve been taking lessons,” Prompto gasps, delightedly.

“I have,” Noctis says, pecking a quick kiss to Prompto’s cheek. “I know how much you love ice skating, so . . . here we are.”

“Stop it,” Prompto says, already halfway to tears. “Or I’m going to _cry_. It’s too cold to cry, Noct!”

Noctis just laughs and grabs his hand. “Come on,” he says, quiet into the air. “I promised you an explanation, didn’t I?”

Neither of them are in a rush, so they drift lazily around the edge of the pond. It shouldn’t really be called a pond, since it’s just so large, but it’s in a garden so Prompto thinks it’s legally supposed to be called a pond.

“Prom?”

Distracted by the way the floating lights looked against the night sky—man, he should’ve brought his _camera_ —Prompto hums an absentminded response.

“There is no tradition.”

Prompto blinks and, when Noctis’ words register in his mind, whirls around. “Wha—?”

Noctis interrupts him with a kiss; gentle and soft and so, so tender that it steals Prompto’s breath. Only partly aware that they are still _in public_ , Prompto breaks the kiss, breathless and wanting, with a, “What was that for?”

Noctis smiles against his lips. “Happy anniversary, baby.”

“I can’t believe it,” Prompto says once he’s done shifting through all five stages of _grief_ , good gods. “I married a romantic dork.”

“Hey!” Noctis flushes, but he’s smiling and laughing; eyes crinkling in a way that only ever crinkles around Prompto, full of a tender warmth that never fails to make Prompto warm. “I don’t think I deserve to be attacked like this, you kno—.”

It’s Prompto’s turn to interrupt Noctis with a kiss, fingers curling around Noctis’ hip as he pulls him close. “I didn’t think it was possible,” Prompto says once they part, and if he becomes any sweeter, any warmer, he’ll need to be hospitalized. “But I fell in love with you even more.”

“Funny,” Noctis whispers back. “I could say the same.”

*

Prompto’s not surprised when he opens social media and sees a picture of them; aesthetic and lovely as they are surrounded by floating lights, silhouetted by the moon. He retweets the photo on his official account, even if he’ll get an earful from PR later.

“Stop being a menace on social media,” Noctis huffs a second later, phone set to receive notifications from both of Prompto’s twitter accounts.

“Aww,” Prompto pouts, but sets his phone down on the bedside table. “But I love being a menace.”

“Let’s save the PR heart attacks for _after_ the holidays,” Noctis tells him, pulling him close. He presses a kiss to the underside of Prompto’s chin, smiling when Prompto shivers in response. “But . . . I can think of something _else_ you could be doing.”

“You’re right.” Prompto feigns obliviousness. “I could really use a face mask right about now.”

Noctis pauses. “Well—that’s not what I had in mind, but you know what . . . how about we do face masks with hot chocolate and put on Hallmark romcoms you pretend you don’t like.”

“You mean, _you_ pretend you don’t like them,” Prompto accuses.

“Okay, fine,” Noctis amends. “We both pretend we don’t like them.”

“That’s fair, but don’t call me out like that.”

Noctis flicks Prompto nose, chuckling when he makes a face. “Come on. I’ll even let you braid my h—.”

Prompto’s out of the bed before Noctis finishes, and says, over Noctis’ laughter, “You got yourself a _deal!”_

He hoards face masks like they’re going out of style—they’re a stress reliever and just very fun to use—so it’s easy to grab two cucumber sheet masks. Noctis heads into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, so Prompto sets up the living room with many blankets and pillows for their impromptu movie marathon.

The only movies on Hallmark were winter-related. They were cookie-cutter romcoms with the same plotline and love interests, but they held a certain love in their hearts. Noctis reemerges from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of chocolate goodness.

“Are there—?”

“Marshmallows?” Noctis finishes. “Yes.”

Prompto accepts his mug eagerly, shifting a bit to give Noctis enough space to maneuver onto the couch. Blueberry Jam blinks at them from her scratching post, curious to see her humans but not curious enough to leave her comfortable space. His sheet mask tingles a little.

“You ready?” He says around the stiff wetness, finger hovering over the play button. He presses it when Noctis gives him a nod. “You know, I should’ve waited to put this on.”

“Probably,” Noctis says, smiling at Prompto’s stiff look of dismay at not being able to drink his hot chocolate for fifteen minutes. “But it’s okay—I’ll enjoy my hot chocolate for you.”

“Were it not for the laws your ancestors wrote, I’d kill you right now.”

Noctis snickers into his mug but presses an apologetic kiss against the shell of Prompto’s ear. “Sorry, baby.”

“Watch the shitty romcom,” says Prompto.

Noctis, still snickering, acquiesces. He shifts, throwing one arm around behind Prompto, and Prompto melts against his side. The wind picks up a bit outside, a quiet, distant howl. There’s probably going to be another foot or so of snow in the morning.

“Your knee okay?”

“Mm?” Noctis glances at him and gives his knee a soft pat. “It’s good, baby, but I’ll take my medicine before bed.”

“Good.”

The heroine meets her love interest, who is, predictably, an asshole, by the time Prompto takes off his face mask. Feeling refreshed and clean, he curls back up against Noctis’ side with his hot chocolate. It pools warm in the pit of his stomach. Blueberry Jam makes herself comfortable on the armchair, content to be in the same space as them.

“Love you,” Prompto says into the quiet, warm air. The heroine and love interest are now brainstorming a plan to save a mom-and-pop bakery in their small town.

Noctis peppers the side of his face in soft kisses, basking in the soft, breathless little giggles that escaped Prompto’s lips. “Love you, too.”

Prompto revels in the warmth and safety as he curls against his husband, content and in love and soft as the night continues. In the morning, Ignis will find them curled around one another, empty mugs on the coffee table while another winter romance movie plays softly in the background.

But for now, they exist in this soft moment. It is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Also. While I have never written smut before, I did write a sex scene for this fic. If y'all are interested, I'll post that version as well! If not, don't worry about it!! I just wanted to try my hand at writing smut so yeah lol.


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